Surfacing
by AzureMischief
Summary: Water does wonders for the soul - no matter if you actually can swim, or just admire the flow. It washes off all negativity and, as you likely don't know yet, can cure even the formerly vile storyteller...


**_Author's Note:_** I watched "Princess Tutu" last year and felt awfully sorry for their version of Dross. It's obviousl that he loves life, despite all; and at the end of the series, it seems like he gives himself up for the next author's imagination. So here comes his chance to fix everything :)

Not to mention Aotoa's line just made my heart melt. Water and swimming are my big weakness.

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 _"_ _They say Drosselmeyer always cleansed his body with water before he wrote his stories."_ — Aotoa/Author, "Princess Tutu", ep. "The Spinners"

* * *

"This way-zura! This way, Grandpa-zura! This must be a good story to settle in-zura!"

Before Drosselmeyer and his step-granddaughter was an open portal with what seemed to be just pale light behind it. Or it might be just the Storyweaver's eyes, long used to the dark void, deceiving their owner, – it's been ages since his last peek into the bright world of his abandoned story, and even so, it wasn't _that_ bright back then.

Truth be told, that "let's go to another story" he said to Uzura was a mere try to cheer her up somehow. Eventually, she would find out they had nowhere to go – a moment Drosselmeyer had long braced himself for. Not that he didn't _try_ to find this "other story" before; he'd been trying that for as long as he could remember… finding the same gigantic cogs, gears and darkness for miles and miles around him. Things created by his own magic – mostly inanimate – couldn't brighten this space up for long.

Until he built that doll, Edel, that is. Until Edel, having come to life and being his "ambassador" in the outer world, wished to know more about human hearts and feelings. This, the fire she burnt herself in to save his descendant, and the skills of the regular human master who later built Uzura out of her remains, might be the reason why Uzura, while still a childlike wooden doll, was so _different_.

She just appeared by his side when the story started by him and finished by his descendant, Fakir, had finally come to a happy end. She'd been calling him _Grandpa_ all the time – which, technically, was true – and, being able to leave this place whenever she wanted, still stayed by his side.

Hearing "Grandpa" for the very first time made Drosselmeyer shiver: the child, wooden or not, didn't deserve same suffering as him. Hearing it now, feeling of Uzura tugging him by the sleeve of his robe, made the Story Spinner's eyes, starved for light, flash with hope. For the first time in ages, he was _laughing_ , sincerely laughing, fully trusting the little doll girl to guide him.

"Grandpa, let's _go_ -zura!"

Only one step separated them from the light now.

He didn't remember who stepped out first, him or Uzura. The light engulfed them both, and for a moment – which might be a couple hours, as both had long forgotten how to feel the time flow – they could feel nothing but each other's hand, and themselves slowly fall… somewhere…

"I'm holding you, Uzura", he thought, hugging the girl with all his might – _who knows what meets them and she better not crash_ – and hoping she hears it. "Grandpa's holding you, don't be afra-"

 _S-p-lasssssssssh._

For a split second, "somewhere" burnt the skin and paint with cold, hugging them with its waves. In a fountain of splashes, the Storyweaver's cape and multicolored robe bloomed on the waves like a giant hibiscus with two skinny legs awkwardly sticking from its middle, and disappeared.

All that was left to float on the water surface now was a wide-brimmed hat with feathers, and a toy drum.

"I'm _drowning_?!" The unexpected thought frightened Drosselmeyer so much that he instinctively let go of Uzura – the wooden girl immediately floated up, disappearing out of sight – and thrashed in the water, trying to resurface. No use; the velvet clothes were too heavy. A scream – last remains of air from his past asylum – escaped the Storyweaver and he, no longer able to fight the water, inhaled it…

 _"The beginning will end; the end, begin."_

…and again.

 _"To those who accept everything, happiness."_

And again.

 _"To those who resist everything, glory."_

With the soothing, silvery voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere, came the sensation – the first actually good one after years of pain. The water was _healing_ him, not _killing,_ – his throat, aching after the scream, was no longer sore, and the velvet clothes weren't dragging him any farther down.

With the sensation, came another, better thought; a memory. The way he felt long ago, every time he was about to start a new story – mind calm and clean, as if cleansed with water _along_ with the body; the old, trusty feather quill at ready – so much like an open vein about to bleed part dark ink, part his own blood, to connect the world outside to his own with love, and grow a thousand more worlds on blank reed paper.

 _"Once upon a time, there was a Storyweaver who'd been through a lot of suffering"._

This time, the voice was different – it seemed to belong to somebody who didn't use to write a lot but sincerely wished to help him – after everything, _despite_ everything. With the last word, a whirlwind of bubbles surrounded Drosselmeyer, causing him to close his eyes and laugh – and before it let go of him, the Storyweaver finally guessed he was floating in none other but a _new story_.

And this story definitely had Uzura in it. Or why else he just _sensed_ she was somewhere close and only waited for Grandpa to surface. _Grandpa's coming_ , he said to himself, and without a further thought, swam forward – carried, _cradled_ by each invisible sentence of the story, bright cape now flowing behind him like a manta's wings.

 _"Starting a new tale, he didn't think what profit it brings him. He just couldn't not create. It even seemed that each of the stories contained a part of his own blood – what else could saturate them with magic, making each one come true earlier or later. Even if this was true, the Story Spinner didn't mind it – same way as a donor doesn't regret donating blood to save lives."_

"Donor". The word, albeit unfamiliar to Drosselmeyer, again brought out the same memory and the feeling that come with it. There _were_ times he was sincerely glad if a story of his could help someone, and even agreed to write for…

 _"…the king… the nobility… and the kingdom's rich."_ The voice seemed to repeat his own thoughts aloud. _"It wasn't his fault that all of them, seeing their wishes granted, started to abhor him – who could have a power to grant others' wishes, could defeat and enslave them, they thought. Their fears and terror poisoned the Storyweaver's blood, hurting him and returning on paper and to people, even the innocent ones, with tenfold pain, until he finally lost his mind."_

The torrent that carried Drosselmeyer seemed to slow down a bit. His eyes squeezed shut at a painful stab of guilt: indeed, _that_ memory was too bitter, too hard to just glimpse by, even though the fault wasn't his after all.

 _"Thus he lost his both hands. Then his life – or so thought the ones who executed him. No one of them knew what revenge the Storyweaver in his insanity had prepared for them. With a machinery hidden within the town walls, and a giant Raven from an unfinished story about to destroy all that was dear to the townspeople, they seemed to be doomed._

 _And yet…_

 _And yet the flow of the story he didn't manage to finish before his death got restored, and came to a happy ending thanks to his descendant… and a duckling. The duckling who was full of hope. Part of this hope she managed to pass to a wooden doll girl…"_

"…and if it hadn't been for _her_ , Uzura would never get… to me", thought Drosselmeyer, a painful grimace on his face finally changing back to a smile.

 _"…and this little girl, not even knowing of it herself, passed it back to the Storyweaver – just when he thought everything was lost for him._

 _That's when they both found a way out of the dimension they were in – to dive into the new one. To fully heal the world he once hurt, the Storyweaver had to heal himself. And the healing in the story he now was in had to came with what cleansed him in the past._

 _There he was, gliding through the clear, life-giving water towards the spot of bright light far above, his cape flowing behind him, last remains of guilt long gone. At some moment, he glanced at his hand-"_

-wait, did it just say… It couldn't be?!

But before Drosselmeyer's eyes was indeed _his own_ left hand. Still covered with a white glove, but between it and the edge of the velvet sleeve was an actual wrist, never touched by an axe. Just like the right one. They were back – he didn't even notice when – and they were _real_ , from wrists to fingertips.

 _"No longer evil"_ , continued the voice. _"So good to pick up the quill once more. Or – while you're still yet to get the new one – to make that final stroke and surface,_ _ **for you're just one stroke away from being forgiven and living again, Dagmar Dominic Drosselmeyer."**_

The last words sounded in unison with a splash of the Storyweaver surfacing, and a loud "Grandpa-zura! There you are-zura!" that almost deafened him after the quiet voice underwater.

There she was, bobbing on the waves, her toy drum serving as a raft for her, his hat askew on her head and about to fall off. Uzura squeaked in surprise as Drosselmeyer, not saying a word, dragged her off the drum and pressed to his heart with all his might, but only hugged back, seeing the drops at the corners of his eyes – which might be as well just ordinary water drops as he was wet all over, who knows.

He broke the silence first.

"Grandpa's _healthy_ now, Uzura. Healthy… as a trout. Did you see me from here?"

"Not until you surfaced, Grandpa-zura", she admitted, stroking his face with her tiny wooden hand and still not believing the madness left it forever this time. "But Uzura had been hearing Her-san talking to her-zura… and she said Grandpa is looking for Uzura, and…"

Ah, Edel. Even in here, she didn't leave them, – at least like this, in the form of a voice and Uzura's visions. Drosselmeyer only nodded in response, thanking his first, long-destroyed-at-her-own-wish creation, – after all, Uzura was but a little girl, and a motherly figure besides just one foster grandparent would help a lot.

"Which way now, little one?", he whispered, his eyes still not fully used to nearly just as dark surrounding. All he could figure out was that here it was night time… pre-morning. The moon – _just how long it's been since he last saw it?_ – appeared as a spot of light from underwater, but seemed to take nearly half the sky in here, flooding everything below with its silvery light.

"Over _there_ -zura!"

Drosselmeyer looked where his step-granddaughter was pointing. Now he too could clearly see a riverbank with trees on it, and houses of some unknown town towering in a far.

Well; if Uzura didn't let him down once, she won't do that now. He turned on his back and gestured the doll girl to climb on his chest – hat, drum and all.

"Get on board, little one – and hold that baggage before it all drifts away! _S. S. D. D. Drosselmeyer_ is setting sails!"

"Fuuull speed ahead-zura!"

She learned this from Fakir – back when he taught her to play with a toy boat in the town fountain. And now it would be hard for her to say which one was more fun – to play with a small boat and have a few more children join you as you all laugh and splash water at each other, or to watch the step-grandfather swim towards the bank, row with his own lanky arms, and bathe in moonlight and freedom, like now.

 _ **The End**_


End file.
